


Cornerstone

by crane_wings



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Romano feeling inferior & unwanted, as much as it counts for a 2p/1p relationship, characters and tags to be added as they appear, eventual Itacest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2018-11-28 05:36:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11411331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crane_wings/pseuds/crane_wings
Summary: A young nation, wishing for someone to choose him over his brother, discovers an old mirror in a forgotten room and meets a familiar yet strange reflection, beginning a friendship that leads into a centuries long courtship. One which will force Romano to question what it means to be an Italy and eventually choose between two worlds: one where he would be wanted for himself or one where he would be needed as both a brother and a nation.





	1. Reflections

**Author's Note:**

> First and foremost, I update erratically. Sometimes a new chapter could pop up the next day, and then there'll be radio silence for a month or two. It all depends on how busy I am and how much I feel like writing. You've been warned. 
> 
> Second, this fic will not be historically accurate. There are bits of real history tossed in, but since Hetalia isn't exactly accurate on the historical front, I've had to veer off at various points. Plus, the 2P world is darker and gritter than the 1P world, so events will play out differently in each respective universe. 
> 
> Lastly, the main pairing is 2P N. Italy/1P S.Italy. There will be hints of other relationships here and there, but the fic will focus mainly on those two, with side characters occasionally making an appearance for some extra world building.

**Prologue**

Centuries later, Romano would look back and decide it was partially Spain’s faulty idea of child/underling-rearing which sent events into motion.

If Spain hadn’t insisted that Romano, as an underling, should do chores around the house, then there wouldn’t have been any need for a clumsy child to climb the bookshelf to replace a stray book, which meant the bookshelf wouldn’t have tilted from the haphazard climbing and fallen over, starting a domino effect that ended with more than half the library in complete disarray.

But, Spain had insisted.

So, the bookshelf overbalanced.

And Romano, not wanting to be scolded yet again, ran off into the depths of the mansion to hide in a musty, old room until Spain returned and had enough time to calm down once he discovered the remains of the library.

So, yes. In some ways, it began with Spain’s carelessness. In others, Veneziano’s established position as the favored descendant of the Roman Empire took the dubious place of honor.

Either way, centuries later, an adult Romano would kneel willingly at the feet of a monster he had unknowingly helped create, stare down at a pair of military boots so well polished he could make out his own reflection, and wonder absently if Spain would be horrified to know of his role in bringing Romano to this point. Would he even care enough to be upset?

Like Feli who had cried piteously, begged and clung and even attempted to bribe him to stay. Promises to be a better brother, to be around more often and not skip off to spend time with Germany and Japan, to let Romano be the official representative of the Republic of Italy in full, _anything you want fratello_ _just stay please don’t go with himdon’tgopleasedon’tleaveme_.

However, Romano had turned his back on his younger brother before, and this time wasn’t all that different, aside from the permanence of his choice. It was painful and gut-wrenching but he’d done it once, so he could do it again, no matter how Feli’s pleas looped and echoed in his head for days and weeks afterward.

_You made the right choice_ , Luciano would reassure him again and again with the kind smile – now tinged with smug victory – he saved for Romano alone. _The guilt_ _won’t last long_ _at all_.

 

* * *

**16th century Spain**

Small feet pitter pattered down the seemingly endless labyrinth of hallways as he wandered in search of an unused room to hide away in, someplace Spain wouldn’t think to look. At least, until the older nation’s anger faded into concern then evolved into frantic searching. Only then would Romano reveal himself, thus avoiding the worst of the scolding for the mess he left behind in the library. It was the perfect plan. The tiny nation spared a moment to gloat to himself over his brilliance before continuing on the quest for a hiding place.

Unfortunately, his good mood didn’t last long in the face of being completely and hopelessly lost. Who decided to build a house with so many hallways that all looked the same? Then again, who left a helpless kid to wander said hallways on his tiny lonesome self?

“Stupid Spain,” he grumbled quietly, eyes flicking back and forth between two identical doors. “This is all your fault.”

Eventually deciding to follow his curl, Romano turned to the right door and lifted up onto his toes to reach the handle, old hinges creaking loudly after years of disuse as he cracked it open to warily peek inside. When nothing jumped out at him after a minute or so, Romano impatiently swung the door wide open, allowing the light from the hallway to spill into the room and cast shadows along the far wall. Large white mounds seemed to glow in the mostly dark room, and it took a moment of frozen terror for Romano to realize they were nothing more than white sheets thrown over what might’ve been old furniture.

Slightly more emboldened now, he stepped inside towards the closest white mound, inching a hand towards the sheet and pulling it off with some effort, a terrified scream ready to be let loose sitting at the back of his throat. What came out instead was a mighty sneeze as a small dust cloud enveloped him and he stumbled back, hacking and coughing to clear his airway. After quick shake of his head and a little hand waving to clear away the worst of the dust, Romano peeked through his lashes at the old-fashioned chaise he had uncovered. Humming thoughtfully, he climbed up onto the thin cushion and bounced a couple times to test the softness, only to decide it didn’t satisfy his high standards.

Really, Spain should be ashamed of himself. From the unsecured and misfortunately arranged row of bookshelves to the confusing hallways and old, uncomfortable cushions; how many disappointments could one house hold?

His eyes darted around the rest of the room, most of which still remained in shadows from the dim light and sheet covered furniture scattered around, and his gaze landed on something tall leaning against the wall. Curious, Romano hopped off the disappointing chaise and moved closer to carefully pull off the sheet, revealing a full length antique mirror. The heavy sheet slipped from his fingers as he stared wide-eyed at his new discovery, taking in the elaborate frame to the smooth pane of glass.

The wonder quickly faded, however, as he stared at his reflection, frowning at the fine layer of dust coating both his clothes and hair, the bruise on his cheek already beginning to darken from the tumble off the bookshelf earlier.

His little brother would never look as unkempt as Romano did right now. Veneziano, who was good at everything he put his hands on, would never have made a mess when trying to tidy up, and thus, wouldn’t need to run off into a dusty old room to hide. Perfect Veneziano who was perpetually cheerful and artistic and cute and everything Romano wished he could be. Grandpa Rome’s favorite. Austria’s favorite. Spain probably thought Veneziano was better, too.

His vision blurred as tears began to prick at his eyes the longer he stared at himself, and slowly, Romano reached out a hand to rest his palm flat against the cool glass, painfully aware that he stood alone in a room filled with things hidden away and left to be forgotten.

If only he had a fraction of what made Veneziano so popular…

He could be satisfied with a tiny little fraction if it meant someone would look at him and _want_ _him_. Italy Romano, the rude, unskilled, lazy, useless brother. Not Veneziano. Not Grandpa Rome’s inheritance. Just…Romano. It wasn’t too selfish a wish, was it? For just one person who could care about him despite all his flaws?

“…Why are you crying?”

Two things happened simultaneously upon Romano hearing the voice directly in front of him. One, he let out a startled sound pitched somewhere between a screech and a yet-to-be-invented dog whistle. Impressive on its own but doubly so when he jerked violently away from the mirror and somehow went tumbling head over heels to land a couple feet away from his starting point, a shivering bundle of clothing, terror, and much deeper down, hurt pride. Especially when a soft, tinkling laugh drifted to his ears.

“I-I’m not crying, damn it!” Cheeks puffed up into a pout, Romano channeled all his fear into a ball of righteous Italian fury and righted himself to scowl at the mirror; only to falter and gape as a child – slightly smaller than himself – smiled kindly back at him from the pane of glass, a tiny palm pressed against its side of the mirror exactly where his hand had been moments before.

“Are you alright?” it asked, and he realized belatedly that the image spoke in a North Italian dialect, a Venetian one that Veneziano usually preferred. And looking closely after wiping away the lingering tears, he could make out a familiar hair curl curving to its left.

“…Veneziano? You’re Veneziano, aren’t you? You scar– _surprised_ me, you bastard! How’d you get in here, damn it?” Romano ran forward to peek behind the mirror, squinting into the tight, empty space between the mirror and the wall. No way, this had to be a trick! Leaning back to look at the reflective surface, Veneziano’s image obligingly waved at him, content to wait through Romano’s growing panic. Still nothing behind the mirror after a second look. “ _Chigi_! How are you doing that?!”

Its head tilted curiously to the side. “But, I’m not doing anything.”

“You’re in the mirror! Are…” The color drained out of Romano’s face as he gasped softly. “A-Are you a ghost? Did you come here to steal my soul?”

“Oh, don’t be silly.” The image giggled again and now that he was listening, it didn’t sound quite like Veneziano’s usual giggles. “I’m not a ghost and from where I’m standing, you’re the one in the mirror.”

The color returned to his cheeks tenfold, and he sputtered through a string of half-formed denials, finally ending with him ineffectively hiding his face in his hands since he had his fingers splayed in order to keep a wary eye on the image in case it really did come here to snatch souls.

“Hey…why were you crying earlier?”

“I-I wasn’t crying, you bastard! It was just dust getting in my eyes. That’s all!” Romano swiped his sleeves over his eyes to erase any evidence and stepped closer to the mirror, trying to figure out if it really was Veneziano in there. “…Damn it, it’s really dark in here.” A more thorough visual sweep of the room had him zeroing in on a set of heavy curtains, and he spun around to point a finger rudely at the image. “Stay there and don’t move, got it? You better still be there when I get back.”

Seemingly unperturbed by the lack of manners, the image nodded and hummed quietly to itself while rocking back and forth on its heels.

Well, it certainly acted like Veneziano.

Romano hurried over to the window and roughly yanked the curtains open, spilling sunlight into the room; and when he turned back around, Veneziano smiled brightly at him from the mirror. Romano had never heard of magic mirrors before, and he couldn’t see why Spain would leave one lying around in some out-of-the-way room to collect dust. Yet, the evidence was staring at him in the face and waving him over.

He dragged his feet on the way back when he suddenly remembered why he’d been crying earlier, all his resentful thoughts about his little brother rushing to the surface, leaving a curl of shame writhing in his stomach. Not once had Veneziano ever purposely shoved his accomplishments in Romano’s face with the intention to hurt. His little brother might show off a little in his usual exuberant way, but that was how Veneziano had always been, cheerfully oblivious as he tried to share his happiness with others.

“…Romano. You’re Romano!” The image exclaimed – like he couldn’t tell who he’d been speaking to despite the rude language and general lack of manners – and pressed both hands firmly against the glass as though he could phase through if he wanted it enough, bouncing excitedly in a distinctly puppy-like manner. “Veh~ I’m so happy to see you!”

Incredulous at the cheerful reception, Romano looked up, mouth already half open to snap out something he’d likely feel guilty about later, and promptly froze. The coloring was all wrong; the hair too dark, tinted into a reddish brown. His skin tone looked a few shades darker than normal. And the eyes…Romano didn’t have a knack for differentiating colors like Veneziano, but he knew he had never seen eyes that color before, neither on humans nor a nation. So, while the facial expression was familiar, the red-violet – magenta, maybe? – color of the image’s eyes was somewhat off-putting. “You…look different.”

“Hehe. You look different, too.” He stilled long enough to stare fascinatedly into Romano’s eyes. “I’ve never seen eyes that color before. They’re so pretty, Romano.” His expression broke into a wide grin. “I’m so happy I found this mirror. It’s like a miracle, isn’t it?”

“…I guess so?” Romano muttered uncertainly. Miracle was a strong word, after all, and Holy See would probably object to it being used so casually. Then again, the papal state would probably object to magic mirrors in general.

“ _Dios mío_! ROMANO, WHAT DID YOU DO TO THE LIBRARY?!”

Spain’s sudden scream of horror, amplified by the empty hallways, had Romano jumping nearly a foot into the air and scurrying over to the door to close it gently, wincing fearfully as it creaked back into place. After a tense minute of huddling against the solid wood and listening for the footsteps, he straightened up with a sigh. Safe for now. Spain would likely check the usual hiding places first, so there was time for the older nation to calm down.

“…Romano…did he do that to you?”

Blinking, he turned to give the now strangely grim-faced Veneziano a confused look, frowning faintly as the image pointed to its cheek. His hand rose in imitation, and he jerked his finger away at the newly remembered ache. “O-Of course not!” Romano defended, trying to cover the bruise with a hand. “Spain wouldn’t do that. He’s stupid and a jerk and makes me do lots of chores even though I mess up all the time, but he never hit me before. He…he wouldn’t…”

He trailed off uncertainly. What did he know about Spain? Just because the older nation hadn’t raised a hand to him yet didn’t mean it would never happen. Everyone got frustrated at him eventually. Even Veneziano would go out of his way to avoid him sometimes.

Dejected tears began welling up in his eyes again.

“Oh no! Don’t cry, Romano. If you say he didn’t hit you, then I believe you. And it’s okay to mess up! I mess up, too, sometimes.”

“…Really?” He sniffled quietly and shuffled back over to the mirror, shaking his head. “But, everyone thinks you’re better than me, so it doesn’t matter if you mess up a little.”

Veneziano’s expression suddenly turned fierce and angry, and Romano jumped back a step, his heart jackhammering in his chest at the jolt of fear that spiked through him. “Then everyone is wrong! I’m not better than you. We’re both Italy, aren’t we?” The image placed a hand on the mirror again, a sad, pleading look replacing the sharp flare of temper. “Different parts but still Italy all the same…right?”

“It…it doesn’t work that way, you bastard,” he whispered, though his hand slowly rose to press his palm over Veneziano’s. “We’re not strong enough to be a whole Italy.”

“ _Not yet_.” Somehow, those two words carried weight, like a promise rather than an empty if optimistic claim, and Romano shivered in response.

“Romano! Where are you? This isn’t funny! Come out here! Romano!”

He glanced over at the door for a moment, judging Spain’s tone to be worried and panicky enough that it was probably safe for him to come out of hiding now. “I have to go or Spain will start crying.”

“I understand. Will you come back so we can talk again? It’s lonely over here.”

Well, Austria _was_ boring and talked about all sorts of even more boring things whenever he had anything to say, so it wasn’t surprising that Veneziano felt that way. At least here with Spain, he could mostly get away with lounging around and eating pizza or pasta when he felt too lazy to attempt chores. “…Alright. But only when I’m not busy, damn it!”

“Veh~ I’ll wait for you for as long as it takes, Romano.”

His cheeks flushed bright red in several seconds flat. “B-Bastard! Don’t say things like that so easily!”

 

* * *

“…Spain?”

“Hm? What’s wrong? Is your cheek still hurting?”

“Do you…have you ever talked to a mirror before?”

“Of course I have.”

“Really?”

“Yep! I give myself pep talks all the time…I need to with how much my boss keeps yelling at me.”

“…H-Hey…why are you crying, you bastard?!”

 

* * *

 

 

**End Notes:**

\- Human names will be used later on to differentiate between the 1P and 2P characters a little more easily, hence why it shows up in the prologue but not afterwards.

\- Mirrors: Full length mirrors technically shouldn't exist at that point in time, since making glass is highly complicated work and large sheets would break too easily. But, I needed a full length mirror for plot reasons, otherwise, a certain 2P would have to try to squeeze himself through a historically accurate mirror and inevitably get stuck. Mirrors back then also didn't have the clear panes we have today, so it wasn't strange for the reflection to be tinted a different color, which is why Romano didn't worry too much over the color differences.

\- Eye color: From what I've seen of many 2P fanarts, none of the 2Ps seem to have green eyes. It's all red, blue, purple, a brown tossed in here and there, or shades in between, but not a single green. So, Romano's eyes will be a huge source of fascination to Luciano. There's also the symbolism to consider but that's for later.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at me, finally updating after a month. Woot~! XD
> 
> Seriously though, there's a good reason for the delay. It took a ton of research and a few headaches, but I've made a detailed outline/timeline for this entire fic. It'll probably be edited a bit as I go along, but the core plot points are set all the way through to the epilogue, so I know exactly where this story is going. 
> 
> So, let's get a move on~

**16 th century Spain**

The impulsive decision to ask Spain about talking to mirrors turned out to be Romano’s worst idea to date, because in a sudden lapse from his usual denseness, the older nation took the question to be a roundabout confession of loneliness and decided then and there to take off work for a while. Truthfully, it wasn’t a horrible concept to have Spain stick around a little longer this time, but the reality of it quickly became a test of Romano’s patience when the jerk made the most of his free time by hovering.

_All the time._

From Romano’s first waking moment until he crawled into bed at night, Spain was almost always _right there_ and talking nonstop.

Sure, the many trips out into the tomato fields made Spain’s continuous presence somewhat more bearable, but even the extensive fields had to run out of ripe tomatoes eventually, which left Romano stuck inside with a Spaniard who was determined to talk his ears off.

…Not that it was _all_ bad, though.

Having food cooked for him was always a nice experience, even if the dishes couldn’t match up to his usual culinary standards. Yet, despite how weird Spanish food tasted, Romano relished the chance to polish off every plate put in front of him, then immediately demand for more. And though the general lack of pasta and pizza did earn Spain a multitude of sulky glares, the older nation _had_ been generous with the tomatoes, so Romano supposed he could be nice for once and not criticize everything Spain fed him.

Plus, with Spain’s ever present yammering, the mansion’s echoing silence was temporarily banished, replaced with endless tales about the New World and the strange people the older nation had discovered living there.

Romano always listened to these stories with great interest, barely able to imagine that such a place could really exist, a place so far away as to be untouched by his Grandfather’s far-reaching influence. And well, if a story got repeated once or twice or five times, he kept quiet about it and continued listening anyway because, sooner or later, Spain would be gone again, and Romano would only have a potentially imaginary brother in a mirror to listen and talk to until his caretaker returned.

Veneziano would just have to wait a little while longer.

 

* * *

 

All in all, two weeks passed before Spain stopped hovering over him, and only because the jerk’s even jerkier boss finally put his foot down and demanded the nation to get back to work. Empires didn’t run or expand on their own, and Spain could only laugh off his boss’s irritation for so long before he couldn’t ignore his duties any longer.

So, with a final pat on the head and a hopeful request for Romano to be good, Spain disappeared off onto another adventure on the other side of the world, and Romano sat alone in a mansion which felt, once again, too big and too quiet for one small nation.

He’d never been one for talking out loud just for the sake of it – aside from grumbling about the various injustices inflicted upon him – leaving the silence to close in on him, until Romano couldn’t take it anymore and slid off the seat to go look for the room with the mirror. At least figuring out if he’d been hallucinating or not would give him something better to do than laying around to mope about Spain leaving, or even worse, attempting chores again. So, he mustered together all his newfound determination and set out through the multitude of hallways to find his brother.

It took over an hour of opening random doors before he found right one. That was definitely the chaise with the uncomfortable cushion, and the curtains were open just how he remembered leaving them. And over there, at the other end of the room, sunlight reflected off the full-sized mirror leaning against the wall.

Breath catching from the excitement bubbling up in his chest, Romano ran forward to look into the glass.

Only to find his own reflection staring back at him, the same messy brown hair and green eyes and somewhat rumpled clothes he would see from any other mirror in the house. No brother or strange discolorations or Austria’s house in the background like he’d seen last time.

“…Veneziano? Are you there?” Frowning, Romano pressed both hands against the surface and leaned closer to see if that would change anything. But, no, it continued to reflect nothing more than his own image. “…It’s me…”

His hands slowly fell away when there was no response, and after several minutes of waiting and nothing changing, Romano slumped down to the ground with a small sigh. Shifting around so he didn’t have to look at himself being pathetic, he wrapped his arms around his legs and buried his face into his knees, trying his best to will away the tears beginning to pool in the corners of his eyes. It had been a stupid hope anyway. Magic mirrors didn’t exist, and if they did, one wouldn’t be _here_ of all places, forgotten and collecting dust.

Logically, Romano knew the best thing for him to do now was leave and forget he ever stepped foot in this room, but he remained planted on the floor, unable – unwilling – to move.

He _did_ spend over an hour looking for this place, after all, so it only made sense to stick around a while to take a break and rest his legs. Maybe look at whatever else Spain decided he didn’t want to use anymore. It was stupid but Romano wanted to try to hold on a little longer to the seed of hope that he wasn’t all alone until Spain’s return.

An hour crawled by. Then a second, feeling even slower, but the mirror behind him remained silent.

Romano let out a small, disappointed sigh. It had to be sometime in the afternoon by now, so maybe a siesta would help him feel better. A long one, then he could wake up in the evening, just in time to start on dinner. Pizza sounded like a good choice, topped with cheese and basil and as many tomato slices as he could fit on the disc.

As for the silence, well, he could always open a window and try to lure in one of the squirrels living around Spain’s house. Naturally, the animals here weren’t as accommodating with him as the ones from his own lands, but everyone knew the quickest way to befriend an animal was through food. With a fully stocked pantry at his disposal, Romano felt confident he could befriend an entire scurry of squirrels. At least then, his usual excuses for wetting the bed or ruining another room would have some potential legitimacy behind it.

That would show Spain not to be skeptical about Romano’s perfectly reasonable excuses.

A quiet rustle of clothing was his only warning before a bright, enthusiastic voice called out a loud, “Romano! You’re here!”

It startled Romano enough to send him pitching forward, face first into the ground, with a yelp, which came out more like a squeak.

Rubbing at his now sore nose, Romano righted himself and turned to glare at the mirror. “You scared me, you jerk!” He paused and slowly blinked. “Uh…” He tried blinking a couple more times and even rubbing at his eyes, but the image in front of him didn’t change. “What happened to you? Why are you covered in…soot?”

Hopefully it was just soot because Veneziano was covered in the stuff from head to toe, though the less than perfect appearance didn’t seem to be bothering his brother at all.

Veneziano glances down at his clothing and shrugs. “Oh, it’s nothing. Some idiot tried to break into Austria’s house through the chimney and got stuck, so I had to pry him out.” For a moment, raw disdain for the would-be intruder flashed across Veneziano’s face as he spoke, but Romano was too distracted by the numerous tiny black handprints dotting the white apron to see it; and by the time he looked up at Veneziano’s face, his brother was already back to being all smiles and puppyish excitement. “It’s fair now though, right? Last time, you were all covered in dust, so this time, I’ll be the dirty one.”

“…I guess? I mean, it’s not a big deal, damn it.” Romano’s eyes tellingly drifted to the side. “Won’t Austria get mad if you walk around looking like that? I can wait while you go change.”

“Aww, but I want to stay and talk. I came here every day, just like I promised I would.”

“…Why? It’s been over two weeks.” He, himself, had waited only a measly few hours before giving up hope. To keep trying after two weeks of nothing, Romano couldn’t wrap his head around it any more than he could imagine a place like the New World. “You could’ve just given up.”

“Hm…but then, we’d both be lonely, wouldn’t we?” Veneziano’s expression turned sad. “Because none of the other nations can understand us the way we understand each other. You don’t look at me and see Grandfather’s shadow or the inheritance he left for us. To you, I’m just Veneziano, and to me, you’re Romano. _That’s_ why I waited for you. I would’ve waited for as long as it took for you to come back.” He placed both his hands on the sheet of glass, ignoring the layer of soot smearing onto the smooth surface. “I don’t like it here in Austria’s house, but I can’t be where you are either. Like this, I can’t play with you or hold your hand or hug you when you look sad. All I can do is wait like I promised.”

It had never occurred to Romano that Veneziano had meant it when he said he was lonely last time. After all, there were other nations staying at Austria’s house, so if his brother wanted a conversation, it shouldn’t have been hard to find someone willing to talk for a bit.

Yet, it always boiled down to Grandpa Rome’s inheritance, didn’t it?

Austria didn’t keep Veneziano because he needed a maid, and Spain wouldn’t work so hard to keep what control he had over Italy if Romano had been any other subordinate nation.

It was rather obvious now that he bothered to look past his own jealousy to see how Veneziano was probably in much the same boat as him. Better liked for his more agreeable temperament, perhaps, but still little more than a living embodiment of Grandpa Rome’s inheritance in every other nations’ eyes. They were two half-nations who were too weak to justify being killed off yet too valuable to ignore.

Unconsciously, Romano’s hands rose to press against the glass, mirroring his brother’s position. There were a lot of things he’d like to say, but he’d never been good at expressing his thoughts and emotions with non-acerbic words.

“I’ll come back,” Romano blurted out before he could stop himself. “If you wait, I…I, uh…” It belated dawned on him that what he was about to say would be horribly embarrassing, but despite his face being so hot and flushed there might as well be steam pouring off his cheeks, Romano shut his eyes tight and forced himself to finish. “I-I’ll come and find you…okay? It’s _my_ promise to you, damn it!”

Unable to handle the embarrassment, his hands left the mirror to slap over his eyes so he didn’t have to look at Veneziano. Geez, how did other people say such sappy things so easily? Spain could spend an entire day gushing over everything cute without any problems, yet making one simple promise had Romano wanting to melt into the floor to avoid his brother’s response to the outburst.

A quiet, little sniffle drew Romano away from his pessimistic thoughts, and he peeked through his fingers, distress quickly replacing his self-loathing when he noticed the tears streaking down Veneziano’s cheeks.

Oh, crap! Blurting out that stupid promise had obviously been a mistake if it left Veneziano in freaking tears! “H-Hey, don’t cry!” Romano’s arms flailed around uselessly as he began to panic, beginning to back away from the mirror. Damn it, why did he have to be so bad at all this emotional stuff? “Look, I’m sorry, okay? I, uh…I’ll take it back! I won’t bother you anymore!”

“What?” Veneziano’s expression turned horrified, and the younger nation bodily threw himself at the glass, forgetting for a moment that they couldn’t physically interact. “Why?! Don’t leave, Romano! Don’t take it back!”

Romano hopped back with a startled squeak when Veneziano suddenly smacked into the glass. “…Are you alright? And what do you mean, ‘why?’ You’re crying! I…” He directed his gaze downwards at his feet, looking dejected as he added in a small mumble, “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

“You didn’t! My feelings are fine. I’m not crying because I’m sad. Your words…” Veneziano giggled and his face broke into a bright smile. “They actually made me very happy, so don’t say you’ll take it back. Our promises to each other, we should treasure them.”

Veneziano made a strange image, still plastered to the glass like that and grinning like a loon, but rather than telling him he looked like an idiot, Romano found he couldn’t stop the corners of his mouth from twitching upwards into a rare, sincere smile. It made something in Romano feel lighter, that for once, he was the one who made someone truly, honestly happy. “…Fine. Just between the two of us, damn it.”

 “Ve~ Just between the two of us,” Veneziano agreed.

 

* * *

 

It was hard to feel hesitant about going to the mirror after that.

Sometimes, Romano arrived first and had to wait for Veneziano to finish up his chores before making an appearance. Other times, his brother was already there and patiently waiting for him. Either way, they managed to see each other every day.

Their stilted, somewhat awkward conversations in the beginning steadily smoothed out into easy chats about their current lives. It felt natural to Romano. Talking to Veneziano was simple and calming, and before he knew it, he had started opening up about what it was like to live alone in Spain’s house with the lonely silence and the meals he ate alone. In return, Veneziano lamented about the depressing lack of decent food at Austria’s house and how often soldiers and the like came knocking at the door for some war or other.

It was inevitable that Veneziano would eventually mention Holy Roman Empire and his new acquaintanceship with the aspiring conqueror.

“Holy Roman Empire?” Romano scoffed. “Why would you want to be friends with that guy?”

“Heehee~ He reminds me of you, Romano. All loud and brash…” Veneziano paused for a moment to consider the similarities and differences between the two. “Though…I guess Holy Rome’s like that through and through. Underneath _your_ brashness, you’re actually very kind.”

“…Ugh, don’t compare me to that bastard. You do know he’s been stalking you for centuries, right? Stop encouraging him or you’ll never be able to get rid of him.”

“Eeeh…? Stalking? Holy Rome?”

“You haven’t noticed?!” Romano hit the glass in lieu of giving his idiot brother a chiding smack on the head. “I didn’t live with you, and even _I_ noticed! Be more aware of your surroundings, you bastard!”

“Mmm, if you say so.” Veneziano still didn’t look convinced. “But, I kind of like him… Holy Rome’s a pretty funny guy, and it would be sad if I have to stop being friends with him. Besides, he’s not very good at subtlety, so I’ll just keep an eye on him. Is that good enough for you, Romano?”

Romano crossed his arms with a huff. “Whatever. Just remember I warned you about him, so don’t come crying to me later when you realize he’s a creep.”

“Ve~ ”

 

* * *

 

The matter of Holy Roman Empire should’ve ended there, but Veneziano began talking about the growing empire more often, laughingly telling little anecdotes, which mostly featured Holy Rome failing in some form or other.

Romano reluctantly tolerated it because Veneziano always looked happy while sharing these stories, so he tucked his jealousy and fear of being replaced behind an interested expression and allowed his brother to continue talking about all the strange situations Holy Rome stumbled into.

It’d been nice to be first in someone else’s eyes, but past experience had taught Romano that being family didn’t automatically make him a number one priority, so he’d take what he could get, and for the first time in his life, graciously back off to let his brother move on to a new favorite person.

Bittersweet, maybe, but he was used to being second best.

“…Are you alright?” Veneziano, on the other hand, didn’t seem to have the same grasp of the situation Romano had and was watching him with a worried expression. “You look like something’s really bothering you.”

“I’m not being bothered by anything, damn it!” How Veneziano could notice Romano’s discomfort almost right away but not Holy Rome’s centuries-long stalking, he’d never understand. “…I was just thinking about, uh, wh-what to have for dinner!”

The worried expression only deepened, and Romano silently cursed his luck.

“If you’re hungry, then you should’ve said something and I wouldn’t’ve kept you here for so long,” Veneziano chided. “You should take better care of yourself, Romano.”

Great. Now he was getting scolded.

“…R-right…I will.” It was the best opportunity he was going to get, so Romano decided to cut his losses and make an escape before Veneziano started digging deeper into the reason for his mood drop. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Of course~”

 

* * *

 

However, Romano didn’t get to dwell on the issue for long because a few hours after parting ways with Veneziano, the creak of the front door opening marked Spain’s return. Perking up, he hopped off the couch where he’d been moping and rushed to the foyer, screaming on the way, “Spain, you jerk! What took you so long?! I’m starving, damn it!”

His enthusiasm faltered, though, when he finally caught sight of his caretaker leaning back against the front door, covered in wounds and wearing a defeated expression. Spain, who should’ve been bouncing over with a cheerful greeting, didn’t even seem to notice his arrival, and Romano found himself at a loss as to what to do in this sort of situation.

“…Spain?”

“Hm? Oh, Romano…I’m back.” The older nation’s smile was only a shadow of his usual grins, but Spain straightened up and came over to pat Romano gently on the head. “Sorry, Boss is a little tired today, so dinner will have to be something simple. I’ll cook lots of good food to make it up to you tomorrow, okay?”

Romano eyed the bloodied bandages peeking out from under Spain’s sleeve, then dropped his gaze to the ground. “…I’m not hungry.”

“Heh, little liar. You’re always hungry.”

Cheeks puffing out at the accusation, Romano turned his head away with a sniff. “I already ate dinner without you, stupid jerk.”

“Oh? Well, that’s too bad then. I haven’t had dinner yet, so I guess I’ll just have to eat _all by myself._ ”

“Wait, what? I-I’m coming with you!”

“Aww~ It’s great that you want to spend time with Boss~” Spain teased, the smile on his face beginning to look a little more natural than before.

“I’m not doing it for your sake! It’s not like I’m worried about you or anything, damn it! I’m only coming to make sure you don’t fall asleep and accidentally burn down the house with me still in it. That’s all!”

Spain chucked quietly at Romano’s tomato-red face, but halfway through, it abruptly changed into a barely stifled sob, and the older nation lowered himself to his knees, pulling Romano into a tight hug.

“H-Hey!” On a normal day, he would be struggling and spitting out a long string of insults at Spain for daring to breach his personal space, but this time, Romano chose to remain still and let his stupid caretaker cling to him with nothing more than a huffed, “…You’re getting snot all over my clothes…stupid jerk. You better make everything up to me later.”

“…Heh…you’re so bossy, Romano.” Spain’s arms tightened a fraction. “I’m not going to be very good company today, but Boss will spoil you completely rotten tomorrow, okay?”

Romano’s face was squashed into Spain’s chest so he couldn’t see anything, but the hitched breaths and the tremors running throughout Spain’s body told him more than enough. He’d seen Spain cry before, but it had always been over minor things, like getting scolded by his boss or finding a rotten tomato. This, however, was a completely different matter, and Romano didn’t want to be witness to a powerful nation brought low because he’d seen it happen once already.

He didn’t want to look because deep down, he was already terrified that Spain might follow in Grandpa Rome’s footsteps and fade away. That one day, Spain could walk out the door, and Romano wouldn’t know anything had gone wrong until Austria came to reclaim him. No, he’d much rather close his eyes and turn a blind eye to the proof of Spain’s defeat because, that way, he could pretend Spain was crying over something stupid and inconsequential.

So, just this one time, he would allow Spain to hold onto him until the tears stopped and the jerk could go back to acting like everything was alright again.

And if Romano happened to be gripping handfuls of Spain’s shirt tightly enough to turn his knuckles bone-white…well, he could easily claim that it had only happened in Spain’s imagination.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Romano still hasn't realized that the Veneziano he's talking to isn't his Veneziano, hence him still mentally referring to Luciano as his younger brother. To be fair to him though, it's not like the Italy bros know each other very well. They've spent most of their lives so far separated, (first, because Rome took Veneziano around with him, and now they're living in separate houses) so it's not really possible for Romano to know that some of the things Luciano does is out of character for Feli.
> 
> \- Holy Roman Empire: His 2P version is loud and cocky and somehow always ends up in the most unfortunate (and embarrassing) situations. Luciano's very fond of laughing AT him, and not in a good way. On the other hand, he knows he sucks at stealth, so he never tried to stalk Luciano. He just walked straight up to him and declared in a very loud voice that he should join his empire. Unsurprisingly, he got rejected.
> 
> \- Spain: He just returned home from getting his butt kicked by England and Netherlands, aka the sinking of his Armada. But this is Spain we're talking about. He's pretty powerful during this time period, so he'll bounce right back to his usual self in no time.


	3. Author's Note

I'm going to start off by saying that I have no intentions of abandoning Cornerstone. The whole fic is already planned out to the end, give or take a handful of scenes I'm still debating about putting into the story, and I will get back to writing the 3rd chapter sooner or later. It's just that my life's been a bit of a roller coaster since my mom got diagnosed with brain cancer, so the last four, five months have been non-stop stress, and writing got pushed to the back burner for a while.

Now that I'm getting some motivation back, this fic is back on my to-do list, but it might still be a while before I get into it again because Cornerstone delves into some pretty heavy stuff and doing research on history is depressing as all hell. Plus, I'm thinking about rewriting the first two chapters, so once I figure out what I want to do, things can get moving again.

Hang in there guys. You're not going to be left hanging forever.

And to make up for my long absence, here's a small, unedited (and very cruel) preview for the third chapter. Please don't mind the sudden change to present tense, it'll probably be changed later.

 

* * *

 

Romano wrings his hands nervously, eyes focusing anywhere in the room except directly at Spain. His previous strategy of hiding until the worst of Spain’s anger blows over won’t work this time; the chances of sneaking out unnoticed are slim at best, even if the older nation has his face buried in his hands. On top of that, he’s well aware that nothing he says now can fix the situation, since the Spanish queen had already stormed off in a huff earlier, too angry to pay any attention to Spain’s frantic apologies. So, staying put might be nerve-wracking but it’ll save him from getting into deeper trouble in the long run.

“Why did you say that to her?” Spain asks, addressing him for the first time since the incident, and Romano cringes under the heavy tone.

“…You…you told me to show her that I’m learning your language.”

Spain finally raises his head from his hands just to scowl at him. “You called her a ‘bad girl.’ _Straight to her face_.”

“It was the only thing I could think of!” Sure, he could’ve paid a little more attention during the many Spanish lessons Spain forced on him, but he still doesn’t understand why he _needs_ to learn another language. He rarely leaves the house, and language isn’t a barrier when he talks with other nations. It’s miracle enough that he’s managed to remember any Spanish at all. “I used your stupid language right, didn’t I?”

“That’s not the point! She’s my _boss._  If you couldn’t remember anything more appropriate, then you shouldn’t have said anything at all! Do you have any idea how badly this reflects on me? First the Armada and now _you_!” Spain shoves both hands through his hair, looking increasingly frustrated. “I look incompetent!”

That’s not fair. Romano had nothing to do with the Armada’ sinking, and Spain had dropped the whole ‘impress my boss with some Spanish’ thing on him without any warning or even an emergency, last-minute Spanish lesson. “Maybe you are,” he snaps, automatically responding to the accusations with defensive anger. “Maybe you’re just a bad teacher! Have you thought about that, you jerk?”

“Oh, it’s _my_ fault now? After everything I’ve let you get away with? Ever since you came here, I’ve cleaned up after you and let you do whatever you wanted, however you wanted. But the one time I needed you to behave and give my boss a good impression, you don’t even bother to try! Just one time, Romano! Was that too much to ask?”

He flinches and mumbles quietly, “I…I did try.”

“It sure didn’t look like it!” Gritting his teeth, Spain turns away to give himself a chance to calm down. Never one to be angry for long, he sighs after a long moment and asks tiredly, “Just…why can’t you be more like your brother?”

And just like that, the world screeches to a halt.

Distantly, Romano can hear his heart pounding a rapid staccato in his chest, a loud _thump-tha-thump_ drowning out everything but that question looping over and over in his head. _Why can’t you be more like your brother?_ Over and over in Spain’s voice, in Austria’s and France’s and anyone else who had ever met his brother. And underneath it all, Grandpa Rome’s disappointed voice asking the infinitely more painful, _why couldn’t you be more like me?_

He takes a shaky step back, arms defensively wrapping around himself. His body feels numb and ungrounded, like something in him somehow broke free and is now floating aimlessly around, but some small part of him is still aware enough to notice the regret beginning to cross Spain’s face. It’s the last straw, and he spins around and runs for the doorway before the older nation can open his mouth. He doesn’t want to hear the inevitable apology, or even worse, Spain attempting to take back what he said, like the question was some throwaway line that he doesn’t want to take credit for, like those handful of words hadn’t just cut Romano straight to the bone and deeper.

Ignoring the calls for him to stop, he navigates out of the house and straight into the wooded area, where his small size allows him to lose Spain for a while.


End file.
